by RC Boldt
“Every day, people stepped up to help.” I smile thoughtfully. “Lukas Trott and his best friend, Pete Hagus, set up a lemonade stand outside their home in Lake City, roughly fifty miles north of Gainesville. They donated all their proceeds to the relief fund.” I glance around at the audience. “These boys are seven years old. But they made a choice not to ignore their fellow humans. If I ever have kids, I damn sure hope they’re half as honorable at age seven as Lukas and Pete are.” I look directly into the camera and offer a smile filled with gratitude. “Thanks again, guys.”
Sobering, I pause. “The efforts are still ongoing, the fund still providing aid, and though it’ll take time to rebuild Gainesville, every individual who donated helped to give back hope and faith to the citizens. Hope that they could rebuild their lives, and homes, and faith in humanity once again.
“This award represents what we need to see more of. Humans helping humans. I think we can all agree the world needs more of this.
“Thank you all. I appreciate this honor and will cherish it always.”
If I thought the applause was loud before, it’s absolutely deafening now. Everyone flies to their feet, and thunderous applause surrounds me as I head off the stage and approach Darcy. Her smile is so wide, filled with pride, that I wonder if her cheeks are starting to ache.
I’m prepared to take my seat, but she stops me. She takes a tiny leap toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and hugs me tight. “God, I’m so proud of you.” She speaks in my ear, and I can barely make out her words above the noisy applause.
I tighten my arms around her. “Thanks, Duchess.”
Music begins playing, alerting us that the ceremony has officially ended and is likely going to commercial before their regularly scheduled programming. Darcy jerks away suddenly, panic stricken.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out.
My brows pinch together in confusion. “What for?”
“I wasn’t thinking, and that was probably caught on camera.” She winces. “I should’ve waited.”
I duck my head and reach to smooth back a long, dark blond curl over her shoulder. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
“You’re not embarrassed?”
“Not one bit.” I dust a light kiss to her forehead. “The reception’s about to start.”
She smiles. “Lead the way.”
When I take her hand, I can’t help but wonder how this night could possibly get better.
40
Dax
The reception is in high swing now, everyone in great spirits, and I’m among them, especially with the gorgeous woman by my side.
I’ve mentally high-fived myself many times tonight for buying that dress and those heels for Darcy. To say she looks hot as hell would be an understatement. She’s breathtaking tonight, but not only because of what she’s wearing; it feels like maybe she’s on the same page with me. Or at least on the same chapter.
I’d come so close to blurting out that I love her before we’d been interrupted. I’m glad I didn’t get to follow through, though, because it shouldn’t happen in a crowded place with over a thousand people she doesn’t know. It should just be us.
Grateful for a lull in the congratulatory back slaps, hugs, and handshakes from others intermixed with those who wanted to chat and discuss possible sponsors they have connections with who can help with the relief fund, I settle my gaze on Darcy.
She’s a few feet away, currently talking to a rookie I’ve seen in passing but can’t recall which team he plays for. He’s one of those guys who has a chiseled jawline and nose and looks like he could be a fashion model on the runway. It’s not that I have a problem with her talking to other guys, but I’m not a fan of the way his eyes skim down her body every so often.
Even worse is when he manages to say something and make her tip her head back on a laugh. God, her fucking laugh is the best. None of that fake laugh bullshit; it’s light and infectious.
“Might wanna chill, dude. You look like you’re about to Hulk out.”
I whip my head around to find Watson eyeing me, eyebrows raised, wearing an amused expression on his face. His mouth stretches into a wide shit-eating grin. “You jealous?”
“I’m not jealous.” I practically grind out the words from between clenched teeth. I turn my attention back to Darcy and the rookie. “I’m just…” I falter.
“Jealous.”
“Protective,” I supply at the same time.
He grins at me. I glare back.
“So.” His expression morphs into one of seriousness. “You tell her yet?”
I clench my jaw. “No.” I’d mentioned my conversation with the GM to Watson, and he’d been royally pissed.
“I think you need to.” We both turn our gazes on Darcy. “She should know what’s going on.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, the slight scruff rasping against my palm. “I don’t want to upset her. At least not until I figure things out.” I fix him with a sharp look. “Don’t say anything.” Then I tack on a quick, “Please.”
Watson lets out a disappointed sigh. “I won’t.” Now that Darcy’s finished chatting with model boy and is heading our way, my attention diverts to her.
“Hey, you.” She smiles up at me, her fingers smoothing down my lapels.
“What did pretty boy have to say?”
She laughs. “Be nice.”
I grunt. “He was a little too friendly.”
“Dax, stop.” She glances around, only finding Watson eyeing us with interest, and leans in closer. “You know it’s not like that.”
“I’m pretty sure it is.”
“No, man,” Watson interjects with a laugh. “It’s actually not.”
It takes a moment for it to sink in.
“Wait, he’s…?” My eyes dart to Watson and then Darcy in question.
“Yep.” Watson pops the p.
“Yes, Dax,” Darcy answers with a pointed look. “And I matched him with his boyfriend, who’s now his fiancé.”
Huh. Well, shit. I was all sorts of off base.
She lays a hand on my chest and leans in to lower her voice.
“I’m going to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Then my brows snap together in concern, and I quickly scan the large reception area. When I don’t find who I’m searching for, I settle my gaze on her. “Just be careful.”
“O-kay,” she answers slowly. I know she’s probably thinking that was an odd thing to say.
I nod and drop a quick kiss to her forehead before she weaves her way through the crowd to the restrooms.
41
Darcy
Hitched® Tip #11:
Make an effort. They may love fishing, and you love reading. Maybe you can bring your books along and sit beside them while they fish. You’re still together, and they’ll appreciate your presence.
♥
A couple of familiar faces catch my eye, former clients I’ve matched who are now married and expecting their first child. Since a sea of people is between us, I give a little wave and hope I’ll be able to snag a moment with them later to say hello properly.
After I’ve finished in the restroom and ensured my makeup is still holding up, I exit and stride down the large corridor, dodging bodies congregated here and there, clearly catching up. When I turn the corner, intent on making my way back to Dax and the others, I nearly trip over my own feet in shocked horror.
The face of the man wearing the Time’s Up pin, signifying his support of victims of unwanted sexual advances, is a familiar one. This, in itself, acts like a swift punch to my solar plexus.
But it’s much worse. That pin, that small, subtle yet powerful piece of metal, serves as a kick in the teeth, considering the egregious actions I once witnessed from the man wearing it.
Maybe he’s changed from that boy he was all those years ago. Is it possible he regrets his actions to such an extent that he’s on board with this movement and trying to prevent future s
ituations? To prevent actions much like those he once initiated?
Even now, with the initial women’s rights movement firmly solidified in our history’s past, society still criticizes women who come forward after the fact. Women who muster up the courage and decide that enough is enough.
Regardless of how consent is defined, we live in a world—in a society—that tends to pat women on the head and tell them they’re probably paranoid when they feel a man has overstepped sexual boundaries.
I suck in a much-needed breath to regain my composure. I’m not sure how he’s related to this event, but I’m also not convinced an interaction with him is what I need right now. Pandora’s box has been opened, allowing all the raw emotion to escape. Memories once locked up tight now flood me, opening up fresh wounds.
I lock my eyes on Dax and his teammates, fortifying myself, and make it only a few steps before he steps in my path.
“Darcy Cole.”
Everything in me freezes, and I feel the color drain from my face. Both muscles and tendons go rigid. My heart thumps so loudly it echoes in my ears, and I fear everyone in this place will hear it.
I strive for a sense of calmness and only manage to grasp at fraying threads of serenity.
His smile is faintly different, only because his face has a few more creases brought on by age, but the effect is still the same. It sends unease traveling down my spine, and I battle against the crippling fear that attempts to overtake me.
Maybe he’s changed, I internally chant, trying to incite positivity.
Chad Garner may have grown taller and his hair a slightly darker shade of blond, but he still possesses that same empty smile and steely, calculating gaze.
The same threatening vibe.
His gaze slowly surveys me from head to toe as if cataloguing each difference in my body from the last time he saw me. Bile rises in my throat, and I remind myself emphatically that I’m an adult. We’re surrounded by thousands of people. Safety in numbers, they say.
Mentally battening down the hatches, installing my armor, fortifying myself in any way possible, I employ a polite, businesslike smile. “Wonderful event, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrow as if irritated that I won’t acknowledge we know one another, and then his lips curve into a satisfied smirk. “It is. My team took home most of the awards tonight.”
I glance around for Dax, and a shard of unease passes through me when I don’t immediately catch sight of him. More people have begun to fill the reception area. “Oh? Your team?” God, I pity the team he’s employed with.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and I dart a glance back at him only to find him watching me suspiciously. “Yes,” he draws out the word slowly. “I’m general manager of the Jags.”
There’s no possible way I can mask my reaction to his response. Eyes wide with shocked disbelief, words fail me.
Of course, this is when he advances, backing me against the wall. The multitude of people milling around masks us, the crowded space concealing the threatening positioning of his body to mine. And with alcohol flowing, people are less likely to have a keen eye at noticing something like this.
I set my shoulders straight, ready to lay into him. To let him know that he won’t intimidate me. Those days are long gone.
“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” he hisses in my face under the guise of that fake smile. “Now that you’ve grown bigger tits and your legs are longer.” His eyes spit flames of hatred. When he leans in farther, my stomach roils at the overpowering scent of gin on his breath. “You owe me for what you did.”
I steel myself against his accusations and feign confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talk—”
He cinches my upper arm in a painful grip, causing my sharp intake of breath. His fingers dig into my skin. “Spare me.” He leans in so close I can see the spittle gathering at the corners of his lips. “Cut ties with Kendrick. Now.”
I frown in confusion. “What?” What does any of this have to do with Dax?
“I’ll bench him for the rest of the season, and he’ll lose all his endorsements.” The gleam that enters his eyes proves he’s deriving sick pleasure from this moment. “His reputation will be ruined because of his connection to you.”
I stare. That’s all I can manage to do. If he follows through with those threats, it would mean Dax would lose the financial security he thrives on having to help his family. Not to mention, he would lose the opportunity to play the game he loves in a city that adores him.
“And if I don’t?” I challenge, my tone steely.
His gaze turns calculating, and he leans back a fraction, as if he realizes I’ve already caved. “If you don’t, then I make it known you’re soliciting sex under the guise of your matchmaking business.”
I’d like to think my testimonials from former clients and those who especially hold influential positions wouldn’t pay much mind to the mudslinging accusations. But he has the capability to run my reputation through the wringer. To not only end my career and business, but Ivy’s too.
And, in turn, Dax’s. The repercussions will affect his endorsements and career. There’s no way I can conscionably put him at risk.
That doesn’t mean I’m ready to acquiesce with this bully of a sexual predator in my face, however.
“Aww, poor baby.” I pout dramatically. “Did the surgery not clear up your”—I drop my eyes to his groin to ensure my insinuation is clear—“little issue?”
I gasp when his grip on my upper arm squeezes even tighter. “Think about it. Who would people be more apt to believe? The son of an esteemed former mayor of Brentwood, a clean-cut football star who was raised by a well-to-do family who worked his way through the ranks to become the general manager of an NFL team? Or a woman who runs a glorified dating service? The same woman who had to be removed from a foster home for sexual battery.” He lets this hang ominously between us before dropping the final threat. Through gritted teeth, he taunts, “I will ruin you the way you tried to ruin me.” He leans back, releasing my arm. His eyes assess me critically. “You’ll end it tonight. Are we clear?”
I practically snarl. “We’re clear.”
A smirk falls into place that sends a rash of prickling unease through me before he turns and disappears in the crowd. My surroundings—the din of conversation, the clinking of ice in glasses, and the laughter—all fade away. My own thoughts ensnare me.
“Cut ties with Kendrick.” He spoke those words as though it was a simple thing. An easy task. Like cutting ties with Dax wouldn’t mean ripping my heart out of my chest. Because that’s exactly what will happen.
A barrage of panic floods me. The sensation of suffocation causes my breathing to become labored. My throat is unnaturally tight, swollen.
I need air.
Without thinking, I rush toward the nearest door where I’ve seen some guests exit for a smoke break. I dart outside, the Florida air carrying a slight mugginess along with a faint crispness from the late hour of the evening. My eyes scan for a secluded spot where I can catch my breath and attempt to calm myself.
A small area off the side of the private patio without any tables or chairs is my saving grace. With no one in that vicinity, I veer in that direction and place my shaky hands on the black wrought iron that encloses the space. My fingers tighten around the metal, and I do my best to settle my breathing into steadier, more normal breaths. I stare out at the sparkling lights of the surrounding cityscape, and my mind takes me back to the weekend I spent with Dax.
I’d asked him about the game. About what goes on in his mind when he’s on the field.
“Taking that first step after I catch the ball, I don’t even think. The noise around me fades. I tuck the ball in my hold and run with one thing on my mind: helping my team secure a win.”
That’s what he’d told me. And maybe I finally get it. Well, part of it, really. Because I need to force away all the noise and focus on one thing.
Protecting the man I love.
42
Darcy
“You okay?”
I jerk my gaze from where I was staring blindly, so lost in thought, and immediately clash with worried blue eyes.
Kyler Watson.
Shit.
“You okay?” he asks again, stepping closer. His eyebrows pinch together, the crease between them more pronounced.
I drag in a slow breath. I try to nod but falter at the sight of Dax approaching. My whimper is faint but apparently not discreet enough that Kyler doesn’t notice.
But my whimper isn’t entirely for Dax. It’s more because of the person who’s followed him out here but hangs back slightly under the guise of mingling. He continues to shoot me sharp warning looks that practically chant, Do it now!
“I have to do this.” I whisper this more for my own benefit than anyone else’s.
Kyler reaches to touch my arm. “Do what?” Worry lines his tone.
I open my purse to withdraw my cell phone. “I need to call for a ride.” So fumble-fingered, nerves completely shot, I nearly lose the grip on my phone. He takes pity on me and grabs it in the nick of time, saving it from shattering on the ground.
“I’ve got it.” He’s already at work on pulling up the app.
“Everything okay?” Now a foot away, Dax appears concerned, eyes volleying back and forth between his teammate and me.
Instead of answering, I glance at Kyler. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
He doesn’t hide his unease at my request, but he finally nods, stepping away, with my phone still in hand.
I grab Dax by his wrist and guide him closer to the corner area. After inhaling a long, deep breath, I release it slowly. I commit his features to memory, knowing what I need to do. Knowing that he’ll hate me for this.